


Cobalt Bloom

by syn0dic



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon - Freeform, Canon Rewrite, Gen, azure moon rewrite where dedue is the lord, lord dedue, non canonical bc azure moon is stupid and i hate it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22536643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syn0dic/pseuds/syn0dic
Summary: A ficlet where after Dimitri vanishes during the timeskip, Dedue becomes the lord of the Azure Moon route-- a new vision of the entire route, and a change to the ending. No ships and no Gustave are included.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Cobalt Bloom

Byleth remembered the last time that she saw Dimitri.

He was standing there, lance in hand, blond hair in the breeze of a great dragon’s wingbeats, as Byleth felt herself fall-- and that was the last time she ever saw him.

She had slept for what felt like a single night, and when she awoke, five years had passed, her students had changed dramatically, and now, they had Edelgard and the Empire to handle. She stood there, staring over the familiar faces of those who had returned as she searched for something to say: Ashe, Annette, Mercedes, Felix, and Sylvain looked at her expectantly, as if she had something to answer to.

“I…” She stopped, biting her tongue. There was nothing she could explain to them now. She could feel herself freezing in place, the way she had once on their first day of class, ice creeping up her legs and seizing her tongue, leaving her paralyzed.

“Professor,” said Dedue, from where he stood behind her, “you do not need to say anything. I am sure this is a great deal to absorb.” She nodded and glanced at him gratefully, the frost thawing slowly as she regained her composure and walked to her seat, arms crossed defensively.

“Thank you,” he said, nodding to Byleth. “As is evident, the Empire has seized the majority of the old Kingdom after the failed execution and disappearance of Prince Dimitri. Subsequently, much of Faerghus has fallen into Imperial command.” There was a grimace from Sylvain, did Byleth remember him grimacing? Even as Miklan fell, had he grimaced? “Lord Rodrigue has offered troops to aid us that we can unite with at Ailell. We cannot afford to miss this opportunity. And,” he said, glancing to Byleth, “we are grateful for your return, Professor.”

Byleth sat a little straighter. She could feel the eyes on her, the way her absence and subsequent return had given everyone the last strength and hope-- all she could pray now was that she didn’t let them down.

<>

“Where do you think the boar is?” Felix snarled, slumped against the wall as he talked to Annette. “My bet is he’s dead. Hunted down like the wild beast he was, and Ingrid probably fell with him. Nice prizes for her Imperial Highness.”

“Don’t say such things,” said Annette, fussing over her notes on magic, now far longer and more complex than Byleth had ever remembered her work being. She leaned against the windowpane, watching spring rains fall. “He might still be out there.”

“He isn’t. He’d be back here if he was. And Ingrid was stupid enough to throw herself away with him for her noble ideals. It’s disgusting.”

“One day, there will be someone you think is worth dying for, Felix,” said Annette, standing up, “and you’ll realize how much you really believe in.” He rolled his eyes and stood, hand on his sword, following her out into the corridor as he rambled about how no king could possibly be worth that much.

Maybe Dimitri hadn’t been worth that, thought Byleth. He was, in her memories, sweet and compassionate, but no leader. Things affected him too strongly, he was too easily provoked and so, so injured. Oh, had she longed for a happy future for him, but King he was not. Perhaps, she thought, Faerghus didn’t even need a king. She could die for that, she thought.

There was never any word of Dimitri. There were always rumors, but rumors never went anywhere. Spending spare weeks chasing ghosts was tedious, and no path ever ended cleanly. Ingrid was dead, buried in some small churchyard in the far northwest near the borders of Adrestia, and the priest mentioned something of a young man who had mourned her like a sister, but from there, all roads were cold and bereft of answers. She pretended not to see Sylvain cry for his sake. How complicated, she thought, it must have been to once have cared for so many self-destructive souls.

But if they gave up on Dimitri, then they gave up on the Holy Kingdom. And what else did they have to cling to now?

<>

As their banners raised high over Gronder, she met eyes with everyone else in the line, chewing her lip as she watched Edelgard’s troops approach. She glanced over at Dedue. His eyes had softened since their academy days, she thought, perhaps the opposite of many of his classmates. Ashe and Annette were both hardened killers, Mercedes seemed like porcelain hiding steel, Felix was constantly tense and angry, a cable ready to snap, and Sylvain laughed louder than he ever had during the Academy, a sign she knew not to take well. But Dedue had become...perhaps not more gentle, but less guarded about it. The sternness of pain had never been a facade, but as she looked at him from his side, glancing up at those green eyes, she thought, this was a leader. There was enough kindness mingling with duty in those eyes for her to stand by his side.

She caught Claude and Edelgard’s eyes from afar as she mowed through their battalions, almost apologetic as she held high the Sword of the Creator. Edelgard had fire in her, whether they were those of heaven or hell remained to be seen, and she couldn’t hold her gaze without intense guilt or shame-- and Claude was a golden god on his wyvern, formidable enough to fend off any Imperials who came near him or his comrades, who she all recognized with a sick pit in her stomach, reeling as she watched two fall.

Bernadetta. Ignatz.

She was sick at the very thought. And then-- Rodrigue.

She had watched it happen.

Dedue stood beside her, surveying their position. They would fall back and regroup before mounting another offense from the north. He had taken off his armor, and stood on the ancient ruins of the site, talking with Byleth about the future while Mercedes mended the fresh wound on Sylvain’s arms, sitting on the steps. She turned around, and the young man stood there, blade out, wearing-- wearing the blue uniform of the Holy Kingdom.

“For Lambert!” he called, and it was a split second, before the blade sunk into--

“Rodrigue!”

Rodrigue had come between Dedue’s back and the blade, and with a slash of the Sword of the Creator, the young man lay motionless on the stone, almost black blood oozing from the fatal wound. But the damage was done. Rodrigue slumped into Dedue’s arms, suddenly so small, oh, Byleth thought, was Felix going to kill her.

“Dedue,” choked Rodrigue. “I’m sorry.”

“There is nothing to be sorry for,” said Dedue.

“No,” said Rodrigue, “for what was done in the name of my son. In the name of our king. To your family. Your people.”

“You did not kill my family.”

“But I looked away,” said Rodrigue with a cough that burbled with a considerable amount of blood. “I looked away from Duscur being made to suffer like I had. Make a world where nobody will die in such a way again. A world without kings. Live to see it.”

His eyes were not open much longer. It was no surprise, either, and Felix and the others only just arrived as a final breath rattled out of his chest.

The return journey to the monastery was silent.

<>

The following month, Felix seemed off. He sparred, yes, he kept his regiment as sharp as ever, but there was something changed in him.

Nobody wanted to acknowledge Rodrigue’s dying words. No kings. Byleth had considered it before, of course. She had seen the way such a system was only destructive. But she couldn’t imagine it. There was the church that she was rapidly being pushed into roles in, there was an Empire and an Alliance and somewhere, there might’ve been a king without a kingdom, but once the war was over, as it looked grimmer and grimmer for them all, what could be the prayer of a continent struggling to be born?

It nagged at the back of her mind as Claude and Dedue shook hands.

“General Molinaro,” said Claude with a sharp smile, “it’s good to see you made it out of Gronder. You too, Teach,” he said.

“The losses were horrific,” agreed Dedue. “But seeing you is a great relief. If we are to defeat the Empire, then we ought to support each other.”

“Agreed,” said Claude with a carefree stroll towards grand doors of the Riegan manor. “So we’ll have to get that business with Edelgard pitting us against each other out of the way, and I’ll be handing over my troops to you, this isn’t my conflict anymore. I’ve meddled too much around here for my own liking.”

“I see,” said Dedue. “Then you will return to Almyra?” Claude was quiet for a few moments, then smiled.

“I will. Say, this isn’t really your fight either, is it?” Those piercing green eyes met Dedue’s, and for a moment, Byleth felt like she caught a glimpse of another life, one where she had stood by someone else’s side.

“I have chosen to make it my fight,” said Dedue calmly. “Logistical talk is necessary. The Daphnel soldiers under your command fought impressively at Gronder.”

<>

That night the dinner was as extravagant as a rationed, wartime feast could be. She noted it with some keen delight. Claude was still both shrewd and generous, just as she had remembered him when he was younger. Annette and Mercedes enjoyed the sweets, and Felix begrudgingly praised some of the spicier fare, while Ashe and Dedue talked circles around Byleth with their cooking knowledge and Sylvain managed to talk politics with Claude. It almost felt like peacetime to her. Even for a moment.

Byleth turned in early for the night, wearing her long jacket and chunky nightclothes that she’d salvaged from the ruins of Garreg Mach as she walked around her spacious guest quarters to the balcony. It overlooked the garden.

Dedue sat pensively on the bench. She hated to leave him alone. The burden he was carrying was one he had never been given the opportunity to prepare for, and though she knew that she was little comfort, she was at least good at guidance.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, she walked out to the garden and sat on the other bench across from him, a question in her green eyes.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, voice quiet.

“The garden,” said Dedue. “It once had to be grown and planted.”

“Yes,” agreed Byleth. “It must have taken a long time.”

“And work. These flowers,” he said, gesturing to the low carpet of yellow, bell shaped flowers, “grow primarily in Adrestia. What was grown here first had to be pulled up by the root. Otherwise, whatever they planted would have died.” Byleth thought about that for a moment. “It took a great deal of planning, cultivation, and nurturing to make this garden.”

“I see,” she said. “What a challenge it must be to be a gardener, then.”

“It is. It requires great patience to turn a seed into something like this.” She looked around as one of the fountains bubbled.

“I can plant seeds,” she said. “I remember how to do that much.”

<>

Merceus tested her patience. The Death Knight-- how could she have known it was Mercedes’s brother? It was the final leg of the war, and Edelgard was getting desperate, she could tell. Those eyes burnt in her mind as they rode to Enbarr.

“Are you concerned?” Dedue asked. She paused, and shrugged.

“Somewhat. Not for our victory.”

“I see,” said Dedue. “Then for the people of the Empire?”

“Yes,” she said, “and our old friends.” Dedue was quiet. She glanced back over her shoulder at Felix and Sylvain, who were talking about their potential strategies for the coming battle, and Mercedes, who looked distant as she talked to Annette and Ashe about the last time she had been in Enbarr. Then, she looked back at Dedue.

When had he become a leader? He had told her about Dimitri’s escape and disappearance, that he had been nearly executed and saved by a small troop of Duscur men who he had been in contact with. He told her about the hard work of finding the five aside in attendance, and about how slow the work of getting soldiers to trust him enough to follow his commands were-- but enough little victories before she had awoken had stacked up, and that when he could, he spared them mercies. War was not kind, she thought, but he could be. 

That was what she thought when they stood over the palace steps of Enbarr, looking out over the now-claimed city. Edelgard hadn’t evacuated civilians. She had warned the troops as soon as she had known, to be careful and to let them pass, but it was hard, between the winged beasts and the screams and the blood and-- and it didn’t matter how accustomed to it Byleth had become, this was hell. 

She thought that for the second time that day as she swung the Sword of the Creator down over Edelgard’s clean, white, human neck. She couldn’t see those violet eyes, and in a way, she wished she could.

“Do it,” she had said flatly, “and end this here and now.”

And Byleth did.

Dedue watched. She wouldn’t have been able to stand it if he’d looked away, she thought, but it must have been almost worse to witness it. Byleth gave her the dignity in death she deserved, and prayed for her, if it was not vanity to pray to herself. They could have once walked together, she thought as she and Dedue walked away from the throne room, and she inexplicably almost felt her eyes water.

<>

The monastery was abuzz with new life as Byleth made the announcement that she was disbanding the Church of Seiros and would be working on mass reforms that told the truth of the matter. Rhea was dead, too frail to survive long outside of Edelgard’s captivity, and Seteth had told her more than half truths and all else had been pieced together from the fragments of what Rhea had deliriously mumbled to her in her dying days. She didn’t mourn the Archbishop. She saw her for what she was: a woman broken and eaten up by her own power and paranoia. And Byleth didn’t want to live like that. She wanted to walk freely again, as she had six years ago before she came here. She wanted to see the world through the new eyes she’d been given by her path, and she knew she could never do that with the Church as it was.

“What will you be doing?” she asked Dedue, as proud a teacher to the general who had taken Enbarr as she could be as he stood in the greenhouse far from the festivities.

“I will be returning to Duscur one day,” he said, “but Fhirdiad must come first. Fodlan is going to change.”

“Ah. Your garden will have to wait then.”

“In a sense.” He sighed. “It is a shame that we had to cut so many flowers. Even weeds,” he said, “have a place where they may have grown to be beautiful. I wish that one day they could have. But we have an opportunity to start anew.”

Byleth smiled. He was, as ever, so compassionate. “Then what will you do in Fhirdiad?”

“Plant new seeds.”


End file.
